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Friday was awesome! My mother accompanied me to my daughter's bi-weekly corrective helmet appointment ... well she drove, nevertheless I got to spend some genuine quality time with her and my little girl that we had not had in a very long time.

The topics up for discussion were varied, and we had a fantastic spirited conversation about life, politics, religion, all without raising our voices at each other. Well, relatively so, but only because we're ridiculously loud by nature and talk over one another at times. It's what we know and it's just how we communicate. It served us well yesterday and I walked away from that feeling a bit humbled by my mother's ability to listen to me say things that I know could be taken as a personal attack, and yet, the key word is 'listened'. She didn't just hear me waiting for her turn to speak. She listened, at times retorted in kind, and other times asked questions with a sincere and genuine desire to understand things from my perspective.

We went to an incredible little burger dive over nearer to the doc's office, where the bacon cheeseburger and fries will melt your face. Crispy bacon. Juicy bacon. Just bacon that tastes like grandm... I digress. Our conversation had been on pause while we figured out what to eat. By this point in your reading this sentence you hopefully have deduced that I did, indeed, order a bacon cheeseburger with fries. To drink, root beer.

We got snuggled in to a wall-side two-seater table; my baby girl in her highchair getting a head start on lunch with her bottle. This kept her distracted enough for The Woman (that's the longstanding nickname in our family for my mother, christened by none other than my father) and I to carry on with our visit. I was doing a lot the talking, explaining my perspective, using analogies, and different visuals. She looked on at me intently so that I knew she was listening. To be honest, I'm aware I'm saying things that in the past would possibly have upset her. Yet, here she was soaking it in as well as articulating her perspective for me - both with aplomb.

Finally, I came to the conclusion of my rant, at which point we we're both kind of bent over the table, maintaining eye-contact, discussing some intense stuff.

Boom! I was finished. I had laid some shit out there that you can't take back. I felt like I was breathing heavily; due either to my ferocious effort at conveying the principles of my new-found approach to the universe, reality, whatever you want to call it, OR the fact that I'm about to turn 33 this next month, look okay for my age sitting pretty at 190, yet my gut remains. Hey my mid to late twenties, go fuck yourself.

So yeah, there we were. Mom nodded her head, contemplating what I was saying; never breaking my eye line. A couple of seconds passed, and she finally spoke up. She said, "Okay. But I want to ask you something."

I took a breath. "Okay." Suspense! "Lay it on me."

Very calm and collected. Confident. The 'Three C's' as we call them in my house.

Mom asked, "Did you mean to wear two different earrings today sweetie?"

Fashion is definitely subject to interpretation.

Description
Friday was awesome! My mother accompanied me to my daughter's bi-weekly corrective helmet appointment ... well she drove, nevertheless I got to spend some genuine quality time with her and my little girl that we had not had in a very long time.

The topics up for discussion were varied, and we had a fantastic spirited conversation about life, politics, religion, all without raising our voices at each other. Well, relatively so, but only because we're ridiculously loud by nature and talk over one another at times. It's what we know and it's just how we communicate. It served us well yesterday and I walked away from that feeling a bit humbled by my mother's ability to listen to me say things that I know could be taken as a personal attack, and yet, the key word is 'listened'. She didn't just hear me waiting for her turn to speak. She listened, at times retorted in kind, and other times asked questions with a sincere and genuine desire to understand things from my perspective.

We went to an incredible little burger dive over nearer to the doc's office, where the bacon cheeseburger and fries will melt your face. Crispy bacon. Juicy bacon. Just bacon that tastes like grandm... I digress. Our conversation had been on pause while we figured out what to eat. By this point in your reading this sentence you hopefully have deduced that I did, indeed, order a bacon cheeseburger with fries. To drink, root beer.

We got snuggled in to a wall-side two-seater table; my baby girl in her highchair getting a head start on lunch with her bottle. This kept her distracted enough for The Woman (that's the longstanding nickname in our family for my mother, christened by none other than my father) and I to carry on with our visit. I was doing a lot the talking, explaining my perspective, using analogies, and different visuals. She looked on at me intently so that I knew she was listening. To be honest, I'm aware I'm saying things that in the past would possibly have upset her. Yet, here she was soaking it in as well as articulating her perspective for me - both with aplomb.

Finally, I came to the conclusion of my rant, at which point we we're both kind of bent over the table, maintaining eye-contact, discussing some intense stuff.

Boom! I was finished. I had laid some shit out there that you can't take back. I felt like I was breathing heavily; due either to my ferocious effort at conveying the principles of my new-found approach to the universe, reality, whatever you want to call it, OR the fact that I'm about to turn 33 this next month, look okay for my age sitting pretty at 190, yet my gut remains. Hey my mid to late twenties, go fuck yourself.

So yeah, there we were. Mom nodded her head, contemplating what I was saying; never breaking my eye line. A couple of seconds passed, and she finally spoke up. She said, "Okay. But I want to ask you something."

I took a breath. "Okay." Suspense! "Lay it on me."

Very calm and collected. Confident. The 'Three C's' as we call them in my house.

Mom asked, "Did you mean to wear two different earrings today sweetie?"

Fashion is definitely subject to interpretation.